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These guys were talking to a couple of women at Marvin when an attractive third girl who was a friend of the women showed up. I walked over to occupy chat up the friend and our conversation was good. She was flirty, fun and all smiles. We talked for maybe ten minutes when I felt a meaty hand grip my forearm hard. I looked in the direction of the grip and saw an inebriated man giving me the drunk stink eye.

“Yo dude, take your fucking hand off my arm.”

He removed his hand. I turned back to the girl. Three seconds later his hand was back on my forearm.

“What did I say?” I grabbed his arm and pushed it off. He grunted and was about to put it back on when the girl intervened.

“Stop! Sorry, he gets like this. He’s drunk right now and can get very protective.”

“I see. So this is your boyfriend?” She was slapping his hand away like a mom would an insolent child.

“We’ve been dating a little while. I met him through the internet.” Figuring out why she would divulge that critical detail, I looked over and saw Douchebag Extraordinaire half sliding off his barstool and making another flailing attempt to grab my arm. He was a stocky guy, definitely not a herb, but his drunkenness meant slow reaction times. I was not worried if it came to blows.

I only felt superficial anger toward this guy. He was an insecure tool, but tools are a feature of the universe, like dark matter. They’re all over, and you learn to deal with them like you deal with the weather. My real contempt was for the girl for brazenly flirting with me in front of her date without telling me she was taken, and for dating such a loser. I never allow myself to be the guy that girls get their validation kicks from in plain view of their low self-esteem trigger happy boyfriends.

As I’m watching this go down, she kept repeating “I’m really sorry” but in that perky way that makes you think she’s not FEELING as sorry as she should. I turned back to her with a cold stare, making sure she understood that my problem was with her. “I’m done talking with you.” I pointed at her internet date. “Get this part of your life handled before you think about talking to guys like me again.” I walked off.

Taking a girl instantly from the high of flirty banter to the low of icy scorn lets her know her shit won’t fly with you. Social disapproval in the form of ostracization is a heat-seeking missile that aims straight at the thermal exhaust port of women, and if enough men had the balls to make an attractive girl pay a price for her stupid bar games and her bad choices in dates she might, over time, improve her behavior.

I’m not holding my breath.

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